Poetry

The Archaeologist There was weight in the way she spoke the word.Pot, she said. Pot.It had echo, presence – solidity —the syllable on her steady lip:Pot. Off-white symmetrical labyrinth bands…

GATHERER I walk across the endless dry oceansof this planet,gathering rocks in sacks,thinking how if this were earthand I were wandering over its sea bedsI would have drowned by this.…

The Sphinx was first printed in 1894 in a limited edition, one year before Wilde’s trial. Wilde was then a celebrity, at the height of his arrogance and impudence, and…

(Julia Vinograd’s publisher, Zeitgeist Press, is well worth a visit.) Anonymous Anonymous is dead.I heard the terrible soft soundof his fingers unclenching a fold of blanket like a cliff he…

There are a number of paradoxical parallels between medieval warfare and the waging of World War One. The art of the miner and sapper, once the standby of those who…

1 You are the most extraordinarily beautiful woman with the elongate lines of an African sculpture, slats, cylinders, bonded blocks, corners knocked off and rounded.|Actually, you’re a black woman in…

There is no God,
yet Angels stride
the emptiness of stars.

I am in an airport somewhere Northerly . . .